


No Peace for the Wicked

by WordsAndWishes



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, Angst, Dark!Rhys, F/M, Panic Attack, pre-acomaf, rhys needs to talk about his feelings, vague implications of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 06:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15113978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAndWishes/pseuds/WordsAndWishes
Summary: After returning from Under the Mountain, more demons haunt Rhys than he realizes.It was a beast that had prowled under his skin ever since the war, brought to life to protect his people. In the years after, it had been content to sleep in the back of his conscience. But the darkness of that Mountain had fed it and made it fester and morph into something else.He had never let them see him anywhere close to this – not that it had ever gotten this bad. But even half of this….who would want to bother with this broken mess he had become?





	No Peace for the Wicked

Rhys had missed the city more than he thought possible.

It was the little things that still surprised him, the memories that had slipped away over fifty years. The creaky floorboard on the second floor. The mysterious yowling cat that was always heard but never seen.

Most of all, he had missed the people – his family in particular.

Though that sentimental feeling was wearing a bit thin, considering they were twenty minutes late for a meeting Amren had called.

If he didn’t know better, he would have though his thoughts summoned her as the clacking of bracelets announced his Second’s arrival.

“You’re late.” He commented lightly.

She strode through the room and gracefully plunked down on her usual armchair. “I knew the others would be tardy, and I didn’t feel like sitting around and waiting for them to show up.”

Rhys felt one side of his mouth quirk up. Reaching for the geometric-patterned plate on the table, he picked a scone off it, that smile his only reply.

Several minutes passed before Cassian and Azriel wandered in, clad in flying leathers. Both helped themselves to a generous amount of the blueberry scones. Rhys rolled his eyes. 

“Amren was right – I should have told you two to be here to be here thirty minutes earlier than we planned on starting. Two military officials such as yourselves certainly ought to be able to arrive at a friendly gathering on time.”

Cassian snorted. “I had business to attend to. Is that what this is? Are we having family sharing time now?”

Rhys jerked his head in Amren’s direction. “Is that why you called this meeting, dear Second? Not spending enough quality time with your favorite fae?”

“I was waiting for Mor, but if you must know –“

Her words went unheard by Rhys as he caught a whiff of something from the street – something so familiar it caused him physical pain.

It wasn’t just the aroma that he felt like a blow to the chest. No, it was because of how it had been expertly blended into an expensive perfume.

Cassian was staring at him in concern as Rhys sprang from his seat.

He had laid next to a female covered in that scent for fifty years, and he could never get the sweet scent of warm vanilla. So sickeningly saccharine, you could be suffocated by it.

_The caress of a hand against of a chest, soft and gentle as a butterfly._

And now Amarantha had come to Velaris, to wreak vengeance upon him. Rhys wouldn’t let her touch this place. The moment he found her – a misting would be a mercy. She had tortured and killed and made everyone suffer unspeakable torment. She had made some part deep inside of him become just as twisted and broken as that bone jutting out of Feyre’s arm. The bone he had pulled and twisted at to hurt her, manipulate her.

He could feel that broken part rearing its ugly head now, straining to release the darkness and molten wrath inside of him. His head was spinning and breathing quickening as he wrestled with that blind panic and rage. 

He would destroy her.

There was no mercy in him. Just as there was no peace for the wicked.

_A red, serpentine smile._

Rhysand’s talons slid out, wings unfurling as he turned, searching for her. The motion made his wings hit the giant spray of flowers on the coffee table, shattering the red vase into shards that looked like beads of blood.

_Claws slicing out of delicate, pale hands and carving into the tattoos on a bare chest. Drops of blood glimmered off them as they were retracted._

Perhaps ten seconds had passed since he first scented that gut wrenching vanilla, but with every moment, more and more of his beast form revealed himself. The distant part of Rhys – the part that had managed to remain less damaged, somehow – recognized how macabre and twisted this part of him looked. Especially when compared to the city’s serenity. But that part in Rhysand was miles away, going farther as the rage mounted with every heave of his chest.

_A dark hiss of pain that barely managed to turn into a bedroom murmur._

Cassian and Azriel were both on their feet now, eyes narrowed and assessing the situation. He could feel their siphons humming as they drew magic up. Amren was saying something her couldn’t hear. They didn’t see, they didn’t _know_ -

“Show yourself.” His voice was one that haunted a thousand nightmares. Unleashing his magic fully, Rhysand sent stalks of power to course through the city and find her.

They didn’t get far, because she – **Amarantha** – was directly outside his home.

She had made so close to the heart of his city.

A guttural snarl with nothing good in it tore through Rhysand’s throat, and quicker than lightning he had vanished from the table and winnowed to the front steps. His shadow-wreathed talons closed around her tan throat. Not too hard – he didn’t want to shatter bones or draw blood just yet. The talons snagged on tendrils of golden hair, and he relished the cry that came from her lips. Good. Good that she felt even this little pain, there would be infinitely more to come –

Golden hair.

 _Golden_ – golden hair. He had held her for not even a second, but as he loosened his grip in shock, Cassian sped out of the townhouse, tackling Rhysand and tearing him away. At the same moment, the woman sent an immense blast of power from herself, knocking Cassian and Rhys backwards.

Cassian remained standing. But the force of that power – mighty enough to cleave stone – was enough to bring Rhys to his knees as his vision cleared.

Morrigan. It was only Morrigan.

She stepped away from him, chest heaving and eyes dark.

Around the neighborhood, neighbors had dropped their work and were staring. The Demon Lord never showed his fae in Velaris – it was always Rhys here. Even his father had never lost control like this in the city.

Azriel raised his hands, siphons creating a shield around the yard that doubled as a glamour of invisibility and silence.

Amren turned to him with a furious expression her face. It didn’t go unnoticed by him how she had angled herself in front of Mor – though his cousin was more than capable of protecting herself.

 _“What in the damned bloody pits of hell, Rhysand?”_ she demanded, silver eyes flashing. He didn’t have an answer for her. His breath was calming and the world had become quiet and it was becoming so clear to him what he had done….Cauldron, what had he done -

Mor stepped up beside her and held up a hand to calm Amren. He could sense magic humming around her, ready to defend herself from him at any moment. She was still breathing hard, the sides of her neck still red.

Rhys’s beast form was reverting back to High Fae as he steadied his breathing. Feathers turned back to skin, razor-sharp teeth became blunted once more. But he didn’t say a word, couldn’t answer any of their questions as he turned his eyes back to the ground. He slammed his hand – still ended in talons, not finders – into the cement, hard enough to break something. The cement shook and cracked beneath his palm.

Still, the scent burned his nose.

So sickeningly sweet.

They were all still waiting, wanting an explanation. So he choked out the only few words he could manage.

“I am….so sorry, Mor.”

Amren didn’t give Mor a chance to answer. “Why.”

“That perfume…it was the same kind she used.”

“Amarantha.” Cassian said quietly.

Rhys didn’t – couldn’t - respond. Never before had anyone in the Inner Circle seen him quite like this. Raging on the battlefield as he cut down enemies with sharp precision, yes. Devastated at the sight of two boxes floating down the river, yes. But never quite this….wild fury that came loose so quickly from its trappings.

It was a beast that had prowled under his skin ever since the war, brought to life to protect his people. In the years after, it had been content to sleep in the back of his conscience. But the darkness of that Mountain had fed it and made it fester and morph into something else.

He had never let them see him anywhere close to this – not that it had ever gotten this bad. But even half of this….who would want to bother with this broken mess he had become?

Mor, perhaps, could have accepted it. Cauldron knew she had her own monsters. But everything about this had been so wrong – she was looking at him the same way she looked at Keir.

Rhys’s chest shuddered. He had attacked her. It was vile and loathsome, and the shame was flooding through him. But not quite enough to erase the memory of the black fury coursing through his veins.

Not enough to erase the feel of that hand on his chest.

Nor for the talons to ease back into his skin.

Rhys was silent for quite some time, fingers holding that crumbled cement and crushing it into dust. The whole time, he imagined he had ground her bones to dust.

Wishing he had killed her the first day he met her. A thought that would haunt the rest of his existence.

There was no peace for the wicked.

There was no peace for him.


End file.
